w to go upon a
pilgrimage, collected the property left her by her father, and in a few
days it was as if she had never been in the village. Whither she had
gone, no one could tell. Officious old women would have despatched
her to the same place whither Peter had gone; but a Cossack from Kief
reported that he had seen, in a cloister, a nun withered to a mere
skeleton who prayed unceasingly. Her fellow-villagers recognised her as
Pidorka by the tokens--that no one heard her utter a word; and that
she had come on foot, and had brought a frame for the picture of God's
mother, set with such brilliant stones that all were dazzled at the
sight.

But this was not the end, if you please. On the same day that the Evil
One made away with Peter, Basavriuk appeared again; but all fled from
him. They knew what sort of a being he was--none else than Satan,
who had assumed human form in order to unearth treasures; and, since
treasures do not yield to unclean hands, he seduced the young. That same
year, all deserted their earthen huts and collected in a village; but
even there there was no peace on account of that accursed Basavriuk.

My late grandfather's aunt said that he was particularly angry with
her because she had abandoned her former tavern, and tried with all
his might to revenge himself upon her. Once the village elders were
assembled in the tavern, and, as the saying goes, were arranging the
precedence at the table, in the middle of which was placed a small
roasted lamb, shame to say. They chattered about this, that, and the
other--among the rest about various marvels and strange things. Well,
they saw something; it would have been nothing if only one had seen it,
but all saw it, and it was this: the sheep raised his head, his goggling
eyes became alive and sparkled; and the black, bristling moustache,
which appeared for one instant, made a significant gesture at those
present. All at once recognised Basavriuk's countenance in the sheep's
head; my grandfather's aunt thought it was on the point of asking for
vodka. The worthy elders seized their hats and hastened home.

Another time, the church elder himself, who was fond of an occasional
private interview with my grandfather's brandy-glass, had not succeeded
in getting to the bottom twice, when he beheld the glass bowing very
low to him. "Satan take you, let us make the sign of the cross over
you!"--And the same marvel happened to his better half. She had just
begun to mix